


Faded Fantasy

by ScriptrixDraconum



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Friendship/Love, Gay, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-03-08 04:31:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3195413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScriptrixDraconum/pseuds/ScriptrixDraconum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You could hold the secrets that save me from myself<br/>I could love you more than love could<br/>All the way from hell</p><p>"My Favourite Faded Fantasy" – Damien Rice</p><p>. . .</p><p>The following are scenes from my m!Hawke/Anders romance, slightly tweaked from what is seen in-game as well as scenes one might expect from such a relationship that were not in the game at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Cat Person

**Author's Note:**

> My Hawke's name is Conall, meaning "strong wolf", and you can find information about him on my Tumblr blog, which is linked from my profile here. Conall is a rogue and mage sympathizer who never gave up on Anders, even on his darkest days.
> 
> Each chapter will begin with excerpted lyrics from what is essentially a scene "feels song".
> 
> Naturally, the chapters contain spoilers from the game Dragon Age II, but also leave out a lot of plot goings-on. If you're unfamiliar with the game and are reading this anyway, feel free to ask me what happened between chapters, or look for it on the Dragon Age Wiki.

 

 

 _**Don't fall in love with me yet** _  
_**We only recently met** _  
_**True, I'm in love with you, but** _  
_**You might decide I'm a nut** _  
_**Give me a week or two to** _  
_**Go absolutely cuckoo** _  
_**Then when you see your error** _  
_**You can flee in terror** _  
_**Like everybody else** _

_"Absolutely Cuckoo" – The Magnetic Fields_

**Faded Fantasy**

**Part 1 – A Cat Person**

They walked further into the large room in Darktown that Varric had led them to. Inside, a tall man with strawberry blonde hair, tied back in a short messy ponytail, was healing a child lain on a table. His hands glowed a sharp blue-white, and the boy's chest emanated a soft, smoky cloud of light blue. The mage was concentrating hard, brow furrowed and hands tense.

Hawke watched in awe. No one in his family had been a capable healer. Though he'd seen plenty of spells glow and sparkle with beautiful lethality, he'd never witnessed someone use magic to heal someone who appeared to be unconscious. The child sat up. Though wavering and confused at best, he was taken into the arms of his parents and ushered out of the clinic.

Hawke turned back to the healer. The man had half-collapsed, bracing himself on his knees, head hanging low. His assistant ran to him, ready to help in case the healer keeled over, but the mage appeared to recover quickly. Hawke watched as the grey and white feathers sewn to the man's mantle fluttered, giving the healer the appearance of what the Chantry sometimes called angels.

Something in front of the healer caught Hawke's eye. A flash of light, sharp blue-white as the healing magic had been. The light disappeared as quickly as it shone, though, and was not seen again.

Ser Rumples, Hawke's Mabari war hound, made his tell-take grumble-whine that signaled intrigue, and a desire to be introduced to the target in question. Gazing across the room toward the healer, the dog wagged his stub of a tail furiously, and was soon whining loudly enough to catch the healer's attention.

"Rumples, hush now," Hawke chided. The dog whined again but obeyed, lying alongside his master's feet.

The healer spun around, either startled or suddenly concerned with the new arrivals. His narrowed eyes slowly relaxed, and he then looked to the hound, giving something of an annoyed smirk. He approached the interested animal.

"Well now, you're not sick, are you?" the mage asked. In a harsh whisper, he added, "Stay with your master, hmm? You'll scare away the cats." He stood then, meeting Hawke's gaze as he did so. "'Rumples', was it?" He asked with another, broader smirk. "Odd name for a war dog."

" _Ser_  Rumples, actually," Bethany corrected. "My brother forgets that his puppy is an accomplished warrior."

The healer eyed Hawke briefly, smiling and squinting in a way that Hawke interpreted as amusement.

"He's not actually knighted," Hawke chimed in, and shrugged. "It just kind of… stuck."

The smile faded from the healer's mouth and was quickly replaced by a frown. "I had a cat named Ser Pounce-a-lot, years ago…. He was an accomplished war cat. Scared away a genlock once."

"Ser Pounce-a-lot?" Hawke asked, greatly amused. "Sounds fierce."

"More fierce than a 'rumple'," the healer countered, crossing his arms over his chest.

Varric cleared his throat, garnering the attention of the healer. "Are you the Grey Warden they call Anders?"

The blonde looked to the other visitors, stone-faced and noticeably annoyed. "Anders the Healer," he announced obligingly, bowing in mock extravagance afterwards. "Here to drag me back to the Keep, are you?" he asked. "You'll have to catch me, first."

"Keep? No," Varric shook his head. "We need information about the Deep Roads."

"Blighted Deep Roads," Anders grumbled. "What of them?"

"My brother's leading an expedition to a Deep Roads entrance," Varric answered, "in search of dwarven relics and the like. We were hoping you might have… I dunno, a map, general advice, intimate knowledge…."

"Wait," the healer pushed out a hand, visibly annoyed. "You're planning to willingly go into the Deep Roads?"

"Our business is our own," Hawke replied. "Do you have information or not?"

"I might," Anders shrugged. "Depends what you would give me for it."

"We don't have any money," said Hawke.

"Money isn't what I'm after, but I may have use for someone with…," Anders eyed Hawke's twin blades that were sheathed to his back, "pointy metal objects."

"Why do I get the feeling I won't like the sound of this?" Aveline muttered.

Anders squinted at Aveline and then turned back to Hawke. "I have a friend, a mage, being held prisoner in the gallows. I was going to free him myself, but the templars discovered us. If you help me rescue him, bring him here, I will give you the information you need."

" _Fantastic_  plan," Aveline confirmed her suspicions.

"I'm not going to lie and tell you it will be easy," Anders confessed, "but this is my price. Maps for my friend."

"Maps? Plural?" Varric asked, exchanging glances with Hawke. He then shrugged. "What's a few templars standing in the way of a lost dwarven treasure hoard?"

"I'll arrange everything," Anders said, nodding. "When I'm ready for you, I'll send word for you to meet me here."


	2. You're Not Alone

**_It's hard to explain_ **  
**_There's something inside you_ **  
_**I'm giving you a nightcall to tell you how I feel** _  
  
_"Nightcall" – London Grammar_

_Three weeks later…_

"Anders?" Hawke called quietly as he approached the man in his bedroom behind the clinic. The healer had been sitting on his barebones bed, staring at a piece of paper. As Hawke approached, Anders refolded the paper and laid it on the bookshelf.

"I wanted to speak with you about the Deep Roads expedition," Hawke continued. "And... perhaps see how you were doing. I haven't seen you for a few days." Three days ago, Anders had a confrontation with a man, a Tranquil mage named Karl, who Anders very obviously cared for deeply. Karl had begged for someone to end his life, and Anders took it upon himself to do so. He then fell silent, not speaking to anyone as they left the Chantry and headed their separate ways home.

Anders stood from his bed and walked over to his small desk, then pulled out the chair before gesturing for Hawke to sit. He then kicked off his slippers and reclined on his bed, resting his back against the wall. "I won't lie – it hurt. Not just seeing Karl like that, but... I've never had to take the life of a friend before. It's... it's a completely different feeling from killing templars or darkspawn." Anders stressed his disgust on the latter word. Hawke understood completely.

"You could have asked any of us to… do the deed for you," Hawke said.

"No. If anyone was going to kill Karl…." Anders's thought ended there.

"In a way, though," Hawke mused, "you didn't  _take_  his life, but perhaps gave it back to him. He said so himself when he regained his mind – he was not happy. Perhaps he is, now, wherever he is."

"Perhaps."

"You... seemed like you knew him well," Hawke noted, skirting his true question.

It didn't take Hawke long to admit to himself that he was intensely attracted to the man he had barely known a month. Seeing Anders heal triggered the attraction, he realized. It wasn't that Anders was a mage, nor a skilled healer, but the way the man  _looked_  while he healed, while he cast spells, the way he fought in battle, spinning his magical staff with such fierce grace – all of it mesmerized Hawke to the point of potentially dangerous distraction. Knowing that Anders had named a pet cat Ser Pounce-a-lot while he himself had a dog named Ser Rumples certainly made the man intriguing at the very least. These things told Hawke that Anders was a caring man, perhaps even sensitive and loving. And then, there was something unnamable. The air about him, perhaps, that when coupled with the man's stark beauty made Hawke feel weak. He wanted so badly to know what the healer's touch felt like. It didn't help that Anders' robes complimented his physique exquisitely. Hawke could make out the suggestion of moderate muscle definition. Anders was strong, perhaps from a lifetime of physical exertion, or perhaps from performing acrobatic maneuvers with an enchanted wooden staff as long as he was tall.

When Hawke saw Anders's entire body glow in the Chantry while fighting templars, he was awestruck. Terrified, but still awestruck. The apparition had been a distraction that almost got Ser Rumples killed, so Hawke had to turn away. But once in a while, he caught a glimpse of a celestial, fearsome Anders. Hawke still trembled at the memory.

The revelation Anders had given Hawke afterwards was almost unbelievable. Technically speaking, Anders was possessed. Willingly. Not by a demon, but by an old spirit, a spirit of Justice. And Justice  _really_  didn't like templars.

Mustering the courage, Hawke blurted out the words in his head, lest he never ask them. "Karl – were you and he... together, once?"

Anders was silent again, retreating into himself as Hawke realized the man so often did. After several moments of Hawke studying the mage and twiddling his thumbs, Anders finally looked up again, rejoining the world. "We were, for a time, in the Circle. He was... We became close, closer than most mages would dare. He became my only reason to stay there." Anders frowned, remembering. "He was my first. First everything."

And there it was, the confession Hawke had already assumed. The look Anders had in his eyes during the confrontation with Karl had been unmistakable. He had seen it before, with Aveline and Wesley. Despite the confirmation that Anders could indeed love a man, welcomed news indeed, Hawke felt overcome by sadness. Thankfully, Anders changed the subject directly.

"You mentioned the Deep Roads?"

Hawke managed a small smile. "Yes. Bartrand wants to leave tomorrow or the next day, and asked me to ready my team. I was hoping you would join me."

"No," Anders answered sharply before pulling his knees against his chest and holding himself in a bit of a ball.

"I understand it's a lot to ask—"

"Yes, it's a lot to ask. I told you, I never wanted anything more to do with darkspawn. Been there, done that, am a walking souvenir."

"We need a healer, Anders. I wouldn't ask if I didn't think it important to have you with us."

"And the fact that I'm a living darkspawn detector has nothing to do with it, I'm sure."

"It's just one more reason it would be wise to have you there."

"Did I mention this psychic link goes both ways? They will detect me, too."

Hawke bent forward with a groan and dragged his palms down his face. He looked across the small space to the mage, his fingers clasped in front of him and elbows rested on his knees. "Must I beg?"

Anders couldn't hide his amusement. The tiny smirk was a beacon of hope to Hawke.

"Listen," Hawke continued, "you and I, we've battled darkspawn before. You much more so, I'm sure. Most of those going with Bartrand haven't even  _seen_  one before. We don't know what we will find down there. Perhaps there is no treasure, only death. Perhaps there are no darkspawn at all. I'm willing to take the risk if it means being able to feed my family for a little while longer."

"I'm sure your family would rather you alive than a heavy purse."

"Perhaps, which is why I forbade my sister to join me."

"Did you? How did Bethany take that?" Another smirk.

"Not well, as you can imagine. Mother was relieved, though. But even so, Bethany tires too quickly from healing, as does Merrill. You, not so much. If any of us has any hope of coming out of this alive should we face darkspawn, it would be because we had a mage with us who can heal."

Anders fell silent once again, and then sighed deeply. He shifted his position from against the wall to letting his feet fall from the edge of the mattress. He then looked up, catching Hawke's gaze. "Alright, I will go, under one condition."

"Name it."

The mage stood from his bed and walked the whole three steps to Hawke's seat. "Answer me honestly, Hawke," Anders bade. "If I lost control of myself and Justice threatened to kill everyone in sight... could you kill me? End my misery as I did Karl?"

"Do you expect to run into a horde of templars underground?"

"Answer the question," Anders chided.

Sighing, Hawke stood, and faced Anders. They were close, barely a step apart. Anders could smell beer on Hawke's breath. Hawke could smell the flowery soap Anders must have used to bathe and wash his hair.

Hawke locked his gaze on the mage's, fully intent on saying much more with his eyes than he dared with his lips. "Yes," he finally answered. "So long as you aren't asking me to kill you right now, yes, I believe I could, if you asked, if it ever came to that. I've done that sort of thing before." Hawke frowned as he recalled Wesley. Poor, corrupted Wesley. "You're... not alone, in knowing that kind of pain. Although, I didn't know the man. I killed him so his wife didn't have to."

Anders smiled, a sweet smile that relieved Hawke of much of the anxiety he had been feeling. The healer reached forward. His fingers smoothed down the length of Hawke's thumb before gently grasping the man's wrist and shaping Hawke's hand to his waist. With his other hand, Anders reached up, and brushed his fingertips against Hawke's shaven cheek, touching the tattooed flames that decorated both sides of Hawke's face. He bent forward somewhat, matching Hawke's height.

"Good answer," Anders confirmed, smiling widely that time.

Hawke could no longer resist the pull he was feeling, the ache he had been contemplating for almost two weeks. He pushed up, pressing his lips to Anders'. A gentle, tentative kiss, one reserved for new territory. And particularly, Hawke told himself, for exploring Anders, who had previously proved sensitive and even skittish. But in that moment, Anders gave in to his own desires, and responded to Hawke's kiss with increasing fervor. When the kiss ended, Hawke's lips tingled. He wondered if it was simply because it had been years since he kissed anyone that he actually had feelings for, or if perhaps it was because he had just kissed  _Anders_. Hawke decided on the latter.

But for all the new warmth Anders had shown, he pulled away, almost jerking his hands off of Hawke. He stepped back, appearing shocked at himself.

"I'm, I'm sorry," Hawke spoke, attempting to calm whatever fear Anders was suddenly experiencing. "Perhaps that was just... it was too soon, after." He sighed. "I'm sorry.'

"No, don't be sorry," Anders answered, shaking his head. "It was my doing." He turned away from Hawke and rubbed his forehead, thinking.

"I can go, if you prefer," Hawke offered.

"No," Anders said quickly, spinning around. As he did so, his feathered mantle fluttered in a mystical, ethereal way. "Please, stay, I..." Anders frowned, and again took Hawke's hand, but retained a modicum of distance. "I want you to stay."

Hawke stepped forward, desiring nothing more than to taste Anders again. He acted upon the desire quickly. The kiss intensified yet again. Hawke began to quiver with the anticipation of feeling Anders's body against his, of knowing the mage much more intimately.

The sobs against Hawke's mouth were most unexpected.

He pulled back at the odd sensation, looking upon a visibly upset Anders. "What's...," Hawke began to ask, unsure even how to phrase his question. What was wrong? Did Hawke do something wrong?  _No,_  Hawke told himself. Anders was simply upset, and in no shape to do anything rash, like have sex with a relatively new companion.

Hawke dropped his arms from around Anders's neck to envelope the man's shoulders completely in a supportive embrace. The man's sobs quickly escalated into all-out wailing, and Hawke could do nothing but hold him, be with him, and let him know with caresses and whispers that he was not alone. Between bouts of tears and gentle kisses, they fell asleep on Anders's small, lumpy, smelly bed.


	3. Deep Roads

_**All you have is your fire**_  
 _ **And the place you need to reach**_  
 _ **Don't you ever tame your demons**_  
 _ **But always keep them on a leash**_  
" _Arsonist's Lullabye" – Hozier_

_Two-and-a-half weeks later…_

Hawke lay awake on his bedroll, staring up at the pitch-black vaulted ceiling of the Deep Roads cavern. Not far away, Varric and Isabela were both snoring loudly, and two of the hirelings were quietly playing cards, chuckling about one thing or another. But it wasn't the ambient noise keeping Hawke awake, nor the prospect of being wrought upon by darkspawn. He trusted those on night watch well enough, and he was very much used to the sound of loud snoring, having lived for a time with his uncle.

It was thoughts of Anders that plagued Hawke's mind. The mage was asleep near him, curled up into himself, hugging his rucksack. Except when he dreamt of darkspawn hordes and archdemons, Anders was a quiet sleeper, very much a mirror of his waking self. The man was normally very calm, and rarely raised his voice. Except, of course, when angered, but even the man's angry voice had a smoothness to it.

The night that Hawke spent comforting Anders in his Darktown bedroom was the first and last intimacy they had shared. Hawke had avoided mentioning the evening – the affirmations he had whispered into the mage's ear, the gentle kisses he had pressed against his cheek. He did, however, attempt to demonstrate his enduring feelings for Anders, subtly, by means of gentle touches and lingering glances. The man all but ignored Hawke's advances, though. Hawke  _knew_  that Anders understood, and he had a damned good feeling that Anders felt the same, but was unwilling, for whatever reason, to act upon those feelings. The smiles and smirks Anders had given Hawke made the man appear as though he had a secret. The side glances Anders stole also gave away his interest. And finally, it was the giggling from Merrill whenever she was in both Hawke's and Anders's presence that made Hawke think she knew something about the two of them that neither of the men did.

Finally, this night, three days into the Deep Roads, Hawke took Anders aside and asked him face to face what was going on. He did his best to remain calm himself, knowing he could scare off the healer should he fully express his frustration. The look on Anders's face tore into Hawke's soul and dragged it down into the depths of despair. Anders had caressed Hawke's scruffy cheek, all the while frowning deeply enough to almost make words unnecessary.

"Trust me," the mage had said, "you want nothing to do with me." At those words, Anders had turned from Hawke, not even allowing the man a chance to plea or protest.

Hawke's entire body ached as the memory replayed in his mind. The sting of the words and the look in Anders' eyes combined with that gentle touch twisted his emotions into a knot within him.

What's more, Hawke had seen Anders, as well as a few other members of the crew, in various states of undress. Isabela regularly walked around camp in her smallclothes, completely uncaring. Though some of the other men were arguably good-looking as well as competent and even interesting, Hawke barely noticed. The image of Anders, somewhat set off in the distance but still visible, giving himself a sponge bath, was burned into Hawke's memory. He had avoided having to act upon his desire most nights, but once in a while, even strong dwarven ale, dragged into the deep by several dwarven hirelings, couldn't ease him into slumber. Tonight was one of those nights.

Hawke was still somewhat drunk when he stumbled off a ways from the rest of the crew. He took one of the tiny lanterns with him, but set it down a short distance from where he actually wanted to go.

The area was protected on two sides, making it relatively safe from both sneak attacks and curious onlookers. The shallow enclave also boasted a flattish boulder that Hawke found more or less comfortable.

He was already somewhat hard. Hawke only needed to unbutton his trousers, work himself up for several minutes, and then the ordeal would be over with and he would be able to sleep. Or so he thought.

The ale had made the process less efficient, and from what Hawke could estimate, the procedure was taking twice as long as usual, if not more. He pulled at himself harder, pressing firmer, even rotating his wrist somewhat to add variation. He envisioned Anders in front of him, looking sad and emotionally tortured as he stroked his own erection. He wondered just how large Anders was, though that did not matter to Hawke much.

He touched the fingers of his free hand to his lips, and felt the soft kiss of the blonde mage. The hand drifted down his neck and chest, but it was Anders's touch that Hawke felt. And then, Hawke's hand felt the hand of Anders, which had joined his own in stroking his cock.

"What!?" Hawke whisper-shouted, realizing there was one too many appendages at play. The answer came immediately once Hawke's eyes were open. The glowing form was unmistakable. Silver-blue veins, outlining hands and arms, neck and face, signaled that the hand that had touched Hawke was not that of Anders. For a short moment, Hawke was stunned speechless, but he soon found his wits.

"Fenris!? What the bloody fuck?"

"What the bloody fuck, indeed." The elf's hand was still wrapped around Hawke's, urging gently that the hand continue its movement. "Don't stop on my account."

"Don't—? Fenris, what are you doing?"

"You were gone longer than usual. I took it upon myself to make sure you had not been eaten alive."

Fenris's other hand had slipped under Hawke's tunic. Long fingernails gently scratched up and down his torso. There was something odd about Fenris's touch, more than the fact that the hands belonged to someone other than Anders. Fenris' fingertips gave off the slightest suggestion of heat, and a faint vibration. Hawke realized the elf's markings were to blame. The sensation was brand new and, surprising to Hawke, had him wanting more.

"I know it is the mage you desire," Fenris admitted. "I also know that he has turned away from you. Repeatedly." The elf slinked above Hawke and pressed his hands against the boulder on either side of the man's head. "I, however, am highly interested. But, tell me to leave you be, and I shall."

Hawke could barely see Fenris' features. The lyrium-infused markings made his form appear dark, nearly black. Hawke's imagination flew to images of a glowing Anders, to his appearance when Justice took over the mage's body and caused the essence of the Fade to seep through. In his envisioning, Hawke had remained silent, which Fenris took as consent.

In a swift movement, Fenris slipped lower and took Hawke into his mouth. Though it had taken him a long time to near completion by himself, the warm humming of Fenris's mouth soon sent him over the edge. Hawke's fingers knotted into Fenris's shimmering short white hair, holding him in place as he came. He bit his lip, not just to prevent himself from grunting loudly, but also from saying the name of another man.

Hawke's breathing was still rapid when Fenris was again on top of him. He wondered if the elf was going to kiss him. He never did.

"Turn around," Fenris ordered, his voice much deeper than usual. He then sat back and gripped Hawke's waist in a way that would help the man turn over.

It only took Hawke a moment to decide whether or not he wanted this, to allow himself to go further with Fenris, a man who Hawke only marginally considered a friend. The ache, however, controlled his actions more than sense ever could. Without further delay, Hawke turned onto his stomach on the boulder. Fenris pulled the man's trousers down only as far as necessary.

Facing away, and being in the dark at that, Hawke couldn't know what to expect. A hot tongue, pressing and probing at his entrance, was not at all what he had expected, though. The elf was teasing him with his mouth, and again caressing Hawke's shaft. When a fist came down hard on Hawke's backside, he jumped, both confused and concerned.

"What was that!?" Hawke whispered.

Fenris pulled away only long enough to answer. "A flat palm creates too much noise," he crooned before returning his tongue to ready Hawke. Soon, a finger, and then two replaced Fenris's tongue. Surprisingly, Hawke felt himself becoming aroused again, surely a response to Fenris' unique touch.

"I need you to be ready for me," Fenris stated, his fingers still inside Hawke.

Hawke wondered what he meant by that. He figured the elf was decidedly large, and that without oil or preparation, sex might prove uncomfortable.

When a tongue joined Fenris' fingers, Hawke gasped. If the ache had been strong before, Hawke was now desperate to feel a man inside him. His arms were pinned beneath him, and he let himself remain helpless to Fenris's will.

Fenris backed away completely. Hawke knew what that meant. A warm stiffness pressed against his entrance, firmer and firmer until he felt his body give way. Little by little, the elf slipped into Hawke, and it became obvious very quickly that Fenris was indeed well-endowed. It was also apparent that the elf's cock, just like his fingers and face, had been lined with lyrium markings, for it too created a faint warm vibration.

Hawke lost himself in the sensation, forgetting who was behind him and allowing himself to enjoy the ecstasy of being filled.

"I want you to think of the mage," Fenris ordered, his voice monotonous with certitude.

"What?" Hawke gasped.

A strong fist gripped Hawke's braided hair and yanked his head back. "You heard me," Fenris growled. "Think of Anders," he confirmed as he dropped the man's braid and reached around Hawke's waist to grasp his cock. "It's the mage behind you, fucking you, controlling you." His thrusts increased in severity before he leaned forward, pressing his warm torso to Hawke's back. His thrusts slowed, but became nonetheless powerful. "It's Anders's hand upon your cock. Anders's breath upon your neck. Anders who aches to feel you inside him as much as you do him."

"Why?" was all Hawke could manage through gritted teeth.

"Because," he began just before digging his fingers into Hawke's flesh and tightening his grip on the man's cock. He emitted a faint groan as his orgasm came and went, but did not back away until Hawke shook with his second release.

"Because," he continued, "the mage loves you." Fenris removed himself from the boulder, but not before running his hands over Hawke's exposed back and rear, leaving scratch marks along the way. "And I do not."

Hawke, panting, was left wondering what in all of Creation had just happened.


	4. Estranged

_**I'm thinking it over**_  
 _ **The way you make me feel all sexy but it's causing me shame**_  
 _ **I want to lean on your shoulder**_  
 _ **I wish I was in love but I don't want to cause any pain**_  
 _ **If I'm feeling like I'm evil, we've got nothing to gain**_  
" _Waiting Game" - Banks_

 

_Three years later..._

"I received your letter," Hawke announced to Anders's back. The healer was pounding some ingredients in a mortar, seemingly ignoring Hawke. "I... would have preferred you coming to see me, but..." Hawke sighed, "I suppose I'll take what I can get. So, what is this incredibly urgent thing you needed me to come here for?"

Hawke saw only the glimpse of Anders's chin as he minimally looked back over his shoulder. "Not here," he replied, barely over a whisper. He put down his mortar and pestle and headed toward his bedroom. Hawke followed.

The last time he had been in this closet of a room, Anders had been lying in Hawke's arms, distraught. That was three years ago. Since then, since the expedition to the Deep Roads ended, Anders had avoided Hawke except for the occasional business-like communique. Hawke was certain that this recent letter was anything but business-like, but did not allow himself to gain any hope of rekindling whatever relationship they had almost started so long ago.

They had been on the road for weeks together, to, within, and returning from the Deep Roads. During that time, Hawke and Anders came to know one another well, and on their way back to Kirckwall, Hawke had confessed to Anders that he was in love with him. The mage, however, was reluctant. Any time Hawke made such emotional or flirtatious advances, Anders pushed Hawke away with dismissive self-deprecations. In the end, Hawke desisted, finally quelling his hopes of a romantic relationship with the beautiful, terrifying mage. Instead, Hawke sought physical gratification with Fenris, though the encounters left him feeling spiritually desolate. Fenris often commented on how haggard Hawke looked lately, foregoing a neat goatee and letting the scruff take over.

"Well?" Hawke asked as he took a seat by the tiny, rotting dining table.

Anders paced a while, slowly, his robe skirts rustling in a way Hawke always found rather sensual. "Have you noticed the way the templars have... intensified their persecution of mages?" The man still didn't look at Hawke, but rather was more concerned with some feathers on his mantle. "They've begun to scour Darktown. I don't know how much longer I have until I'm discovered."

"I've already offered you a room in my estate. You know you'd be protected there."

Anders finally turned to Hawke, answering as he did so. "And risk detection by accepting visitors from all over the city who need healing? I could never put you in danger like that. These people need me... but I would sooner flee the city than risk you and your family getting hurt."

"Then if not my estate, somewhere new. This place is well enough hidden, out of sight from guards and patrols, but after all these years I'm not surprised the templars have started poking around. If their hunting is intensifying then surely they're going to start paying or threatening people to talk. I know you think these people would never give you up, but come starvation or threat of injury—"

"And you think I hadn't thought of that from the beginning? It's been fine so far. I have no reason to believe someone told the templars about my little operation here. But... arguing about  _my_  safety is not why I asked you to meet me here. As I said, the templars are becoming more zealous. I need your help. If we take care of them, then I won't have to worry about being captured, will I? I won't have to worry about  _you_  being captured."

"What is it exactly you need me to do?"

"Haven't you noticed the proliferation of Tranquil outside the Gallows? Even mages who've passed their Harrowing are being made Tranquil. It's illegal. They  _know_ this. I'm not sure the  _law_  cares anymore... The templars are actively hunting down any mage who speaks out against them, and they plan on doing this to  _every_  mage in the coming years!"

"I find that difficult to believe, Anders. The last conspiracy you uncovered ended up being completely false."

"Not this time. I've been working with a sort of... resistance. Deep underground, as it were. Free mages here in Kirkwall who help others escape the Circle, and the city."

"A resistance? Is it... big?"

"No, but it may be, soon. I can't say any more but... they got me into the Gallows. I saw... I watched as one of their high-ranked templars, Ser Alrik, perform the Rite of Tranquility on a  _line_  of mages. I stood there, helpless as..."

Anders was shaking. Hawke could see the tears welling in his eyes, and it was all he could do to hold back from reaching out to the man before him. His entire body ached in protest.

"The man is a sadist, Hawke. He... finds pleasure in making mages completely helpless, coreless vessels to do his bidding. I heard that afterwards, after he performed the ritual on those seven mages, he...  _took_  some of them, in turn. I..." Anders's face was taught with anguish. "We need to stop him, Hawke. That is why I need your help. I can't do this alone, you know that. I need you there with me, to talk me down if I... if Justice..."

"I understand, Anders. I'm glad you felt you could still come to me for help. I'm always at your disposal; you know that."

The mage nodded, but he knew what Hawke truly meant by his words: _We've barely spoken for three years and you come begging me to help you? You're lucky I love you._ Anders avoided the last interpreted comment, and continued with his bid.

"There's an entrance to the Gallows from here in Darktown. Well hidden, thankfully. It's how I've gone in and out several times. I need you to come with me. Tonight. We'll find the evidence we need against Ser Alrik."

"That sounds like a suicide mission," Hawke replied, smirking. "But, since when am I above throwing myself into the fire for you?"

"I'm not asking you to do this because I know you  _would,_  I'm asking because I want  _you_  there. I need you there." Anders's lower lip quivered with the desire to say more, but he shook the thought out of his head. "We might need some help, though, should we run into trouble. Any of your quiet and... discreet friends would certainly be welcome."

"Isabela and Merrill would be happy to help. Varric too. I'll ask them."

"Yes, that sounds good. It's early, yet. Meet me back here when you're ready? Team of heroes on your tail?"

Hawke couldn't help but smile. Soft and sad, but a smile nonetheless. "Of course."

The men stood facing one another for long enough to understand each other's mind completely. The deepened lines of Ander's face had aged him in the last three years, and they expressed more than words ever could. Hawke accepted what little emotion he could dredge out of Anders, and left to find his companions.


	5. The Cat Ran Away

_**I want to hide the truth** _   
_**I want to shelter you** _   
_**But with the beast inside** _   
_**There's nowhere we can hide** _   
_"Demons" – Imagine Dragons_

Hawke had been standing behind Anders for long enough to realize that he was packing his belongings into a trunk. He watched him sort through trinkets and clothing, boots and books, setting things into piles. Trash, Sell, Gifts, and Keep. The smallest pile comprised the latter.

Looking down, Hawke saw a tiny, empty bowl, covered in some kicked-up dirt. The stray cats Anders considered his friends had apparently stopped coming, or Anders stopped luring them to his clinic with the promise of milk and chin scratches.

As Anders thumbed a belled bracelet or collar, he sobbed the word, "Keep."

Hawke stepped further into the man's bedroom. "You just... ran off," he acknowledged coldly.

Anders sulked, and let the object he had been holding fall into the trunk, bell tinkling when it hit something hard. "I killed her.  _Killed her_. How can I live with myself? I can't be around these people any longer. I can't be around you. It's too dangerous if even  _your_ presence doesn't help."

"Don't I get a say in this?"

"No. Please..." Anders nearly crumbled under the weight of his own guilt, his right knee buckling and elbows giving in. He caught himself, though, on the edge of his bookshelf. "Just... go. I can't do this again."

"Anders..."

"Go!" Violently the mage turned to Hawke, his eyes not only glowing with electric power, but his flesh had become veined by the Fade.

Hawke was at a loss. He feared actual injury should he protest again. He felt like a dog, turned away, forced to leave his master's side for his own good. Hawke crossed his hands over his chest and bowed deeply, and then promptly left before Anders started throwing things.

On his way out, he asked one of Anders' assistants to give him the letter he had found on Ser Alrik's person.


	6. Come In From the Rain

_**I tried to repress it**_  
 _ **Then I carried its crown**_  
 _ **Almost drove myself crazy**_  
 _ **When these words led to you**_  
 _ **And all these useless dreams of living alone**_  
 _ **Like a dogless bone**_  
 _ **So come let me love you**_  
" _Colour Me In" – Damien Rice_

 

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

Hawke had been staring into the fire in his bedroom. He watched the flames twist, twirl and sputter until his eyes were as dry as the wood he kept by the hearth. He could no longer tell the difference between the tears that the eyes produced on their own and the ones he shed for the loss of the man he loved.

The slow knocking at his door brought him back from oblivion. He wiped his face and stood. "Come in," he announced forcefully, doing his best to not let his voice crack.

The door creaked open to reveal a drenched and sullen Anders. His light copper hair, disheveled, was plastered to his pale skin. His silken, feathered robe, though covered by a treated leather cloak, was splotched and perhaps even ruined.

Hawke's heart jumped into his throat when he saw the healer. Too many emotions clashed together and instead of embracing Anders or yelling or saying  _anything_ at all, Hawke turned to stone, a prisoner of his own feelings.

Anders entered the bedroom, closing the door behind him. His fingers lingered on the wood but soon drifted lower to the lock. He turned the key.

"I owe you an apology," he muttered, turning to Hawke. He stood there, shoulders sunk, dripping on the Orlesian throw rug.

Hawke crossed his arms defensively. He looked to his feet, staring at the soft slippers that warmed them. He needed a moment to think, to gather his bearings.

"In a way," he finally responded, "yes, you might, but... I know why you said what you did, why you wanted me gone. I may trust you, but I understand if you think you can't trust yourself."

"I  _can't_ trust myself." There was that look again, Hawke thought, the one that made Anders look like a sad, lost puppy who just wanted to find his home and frolic in a meadow somewhere alongside the ones he loved, but couldn't lest he bite the hands that feed him.

"But," Anders continued, "I can trust you. Perhaps I can even trust you to understand that you indeed  _cannot_ trust me, if that makes any sense." He waved off the subject. "I'm sorry for yelling. I truly am. I also... came to thank you for the letter, the one you found on Ser Alrik. It was him, his ideas, all along. He was an extremist. Perhaps one of only a few... I'm going to talk to the Grand Cleric soon, and I'd like you with me when I go."

"Of course, Anders." Hawke raised a brow. "Maybe we can stop by the market on the way, get you a new robe. And me a new rug."

"Oh, shit." Anders leapt to the side, muddying the hardwood floor instead. "Will I ever stop having things to apologize to you for?"

Hawke chuckled, and stepped closer to Anders. "Not if I can help it."

Anders looked up, catching Hawke's gaze. "These last few years," he began, "they've been difficult. I avoided you on purpose. I'm sure you realized that – another thing to apologize for. I just… can't bear the thought of you being hurt just for  _knowing_ me. If we were to be more than friends, it would be just that much worse for you, if we let ourselves... if we..."

"Some things are worth the pain." Hawke's fingers landed gently on the man's cloak string, untying it. The leather fell to the floor in a lump, forgotten.

"I've held back," Anders continued. "I wanted to tell you... all those years ago... I..."

Hawke reached a hand forward. His touch grazed Anders's hand, and the mage quickly grasped what was offered.

Anders looked into Hawke's eyes, holding his gaze. "I can't resist my feelings for you any longer. Despite everything I know to be right, to be safe, I can't fight it. I'm done. I pushed you away...  _so_  many times... but I can't bear to be apart from you anymore. If you'll still have me..."

By then Hawke's other hand was upon Anders's cheek. He shivered at the sensation of the man's dark blonde scruff against the soft skin of his wrist. Their foreheads touched as Anders bowed in to meet Hawke's height.

"Say it to me again," Anders breathed, knowing Hawke would understand what he was asking.

Hawke smiled, and complied. "I love you."

Anders shuddered with release of long-contained emotions. The chains he had wrapped around himself for three years were shattered. He was free.

Anders dove in to Hawke, kissing him with such fierce passion that he felt the inside of his own lip be pierced by his teeth.

Hawke's fingers hooked into Anders's clumped, untied hair, but Anders broke free from the embrace. Nose pressed to Hawke's, he whispered, "Three years, I've ached for you, Conall. I hate myself for waiting this long, but I resisted  _because_  I love you. I would drown us in  _blood_ to keep you safe."

Their lips came together again, locking in place. Hawke had only been wearing his evening clothes, and the tunic and trousers slipped off easily. Anders however had come dressed in full mage regalia. Though technically the man wore what was considered a robe, in truth, Hawke realized, the outfit was far from simple. With Anders's help he unclasped buckles and untucked fabric as quickly as mortal fingers would allow, stealing kisses between phases of disrobing.

Anders soon had Hawke's loincloth fallen to the pile of clothes at their feet, and he wasted no time in caressing what lay beneath. He relished in the curve of Hawke's round, firm buttock, and quickly learned the feel of Hawke's arousal.

Finally, Anders was freed from his silks and smallclothes. With surprising force, Anders urged Hawke to his large, tidy bed. The man landed with a small bounce, and Anders was quickly upon him. He realized how Hawke smelled rather different from years ago, exchanging sweat and soil for some sort of perfume. The scent was anything but offensive, though Anders did miss Hawke's true essence. He buried his face into the crook of Hawke's neck, sucking and nipping as his desires led him. Hawke moaned at the sensation, and dug the tips of his fingers into Anders' flanks.

Anders pushed himself up to gaze upon the man beneath him. Hawke moved his hands to Anders's face, cupping both cheeks. Anders smiled, and Hawke returned the gesture. He pulled Anders down for another kiss, and the mage responded rather firmly by pressing against Hawke's thigh. Hawke grasped at the back of Anders's neck, unwilling to let the man away from their kiss.

Hawke moaned as he felt a hand grasp his erection. The firm caress, accompanied by the feel of Anders' soft lips pressed against his, was almost too much to bear. It had been far too long, he admitted to himself, since he'd felt the touch of another who he actually cared for. Whenever he had lain with Fenris or others these last few years, it was Anders he imagined, not the body that was actually present. It was Anders that he desired. It was Anders whom he loved.

The healer broke their kiss only for a brief moment, spitting in his own palm before reaching around behind himself. Hawke trembled with the knowledge of what was going to happen, soon. The thought of being inside Anders, of joining with him, nearly had him in tears.

The mage pulled away yet again. Hawke felt a hand tighten its grip around his girth long enough for Anders to position himself just right, arching his back somewhat. Hawke felt himself pressed against taught muscle and worried the man was not yet quite ready to receive him, but trusted Anders to know his own body.

Hawke gazed up at the man above him, mouth open to allow for rapid breathing. Their eyes locked on to one anothers' as Anders lowered himself, slowly, allowing them both to savor this moment.

And then Hawke was inside the man. His inaugural groan bellowed from his chest and he could no longer hold Anders's gaze. His eyes squeezed shut. The pleasure was simply too much. Anders began to move above him, slowly, adjusting. Instinctively, Hawke reached forward and found Anders's cock. He began stroking, softly, desperate for this moment to last for both of them as long as humanly possible.

With his free hand, Hawke grabbed firm Anders's slender buttock, aiding in the man's upward movement. Anders dropped one hand to join Hawke in stroking his cock, and reached forward with the other to brace himself on the man's shoulder. Hawke began to meet Anders' thrusts, pushing up with his strong thighs as Anders sank down.

Anders's hand left his shaft and began to trace patterns on Hawke's torso, following the tattooed flames that reached from navel to pectoral and then continued up to the man's face. The mage surprised Hawke with a hard pinch of his nipple and then the other, massaging the flesh soon after.

Hawke felt Anders finally loosen enough to thrust in earnest. Bracing himself against the mattress, he clenched his muscles and flipped the both of them over, successfully pinning down the healer beneath him. He grasped Anders's waist with one hand and the back of his neck with the other. The mage's legs gave way, allowing Hawke to fall flush against him, thrusting deeply and lowering to kiss him.

Anders whimpered, a tiny noise that made Hawke shiver. In this position, it was only Hawke's abdomen that stroked Anders's erection, but from the man's flushed face and increasingly loud moans, it was obvious to Hawke that Anders was still enjoying himself.

The mage wrapped his arms around Hawke's shoulders, holding him in position. Every time Hawke came up for air, breaking the kiss, Anders felt a wave of despair wash over him. He needed all of Hawke, completely, until the both of them passed out from exhaustion.

Amidst their thrusts and cries, Hawke's hand found Anders's, and their fingers intertwined. Even when Anders began to tremble with release, when he cried out Hawke's given name again and again, he refused to let go of his hand. With Anders still moaning against his mouth, Hawke found his own release. His fingers dug into Anders's flesh, surely leaving indentations where fingernails pressed too hard.

Together, they panted. Neither man had realized the sweat they had collectively worked up, nor the red splotches and scratches they had left on each other from clinging far too hard. Anders held the man to him still, losing himself in the feel of Hawke's weight pressing down on him. They kissed once more, gentler then, a relaxing embrace that helped dissipate the remaining frenzy.

Hawke pushed himself up with one arm, and with the other, swept a hand over Anders's head, smoothing his reckless, still-damp tresses. Anders smiled up at the man, following suit, stroking the silky, single braid Hawke always kept his long black hair in. Hawke leaned in, this time kissing Anders's forehead. Anders grasped Hawke's wrist, bringing the man's palm to his lips and then pressing the hand against his cheek. He again looked up at Hawke. His brow creased, and to Hawke, Anders appeared concerned, or sad. But his following words soothed his worry completely.

"I love you, too."


	7. Allow Myself These Moments

_**If I could say anything, anything what would it be?** _   
_**A good question for our destined reality** _   
_**I would tell you that I love you** _   
_**Even when it didn't show** _   
  
_**If I could have it go any way, any way, it'd go like this:** _   
_**Take it back to a couple years yesterday to our first kiss** _   
  
_"Say Anything" – Tristan Prettyman_   
  


 

Hawke lay awake in bed, propped up on an elbow and gazing at the slumbering body before him. The sun had risen, but Anders still slept soundly, his breaths slow and steady. Hawke listened to the sound of his breathing, a soft brush of air through the man's narrow nostrils. Anders was faced away from Hawke, away from the light that shone through the curtains. It was warm in the bedroom, and neither of them had bothered with bedclothes. The bed linens only covered Anders' legs from the thighs down, and Hawke took the opportunity to study the man's form.

Anders was slender in build but maintained a hint of muscle definition, just enough to wield a heavy staff or hold his own in close combat. Unlike Hawke, who as his brother Carver had often teased had womanly curves – an only somewhat accurate observation – Anders had a straight body from shoulder to waist, and not much curve to the buttock. The healer was lean like a lion should be, as Hawke saw it. He even had the tawny mane and short temper.

Hawke's hand gravitated to the man's back, entranced by the glint of blonde body hair against pale skin. There wasn't much of it; even Anders' legs were sparsely covered, another contrast to Hawke's somewhat darker body and black hair. Hawke's fingers hovered, moving up and down, back and forth, memorizing without touch Anders's shape. He wanted this moment, this image burned into his mind. They would never have another morning like this one. There would never be another  _first_.

In time, Hawke's stomach growled, but the man ignored his growing hunger and instead drank from his water cup. The smell of bacon, however, wafted from the kitchen, triggering a series of hunger pangs. Hawke slowly stood from the bed, threw on a dressing robe, and slinked out the bedroom.

Returning moments later, Anders was still asleep. Hawke wielded a platterful of baked goods and several dozen strips of bacon, a handful already eaten by himself. Another strip in hand, Hawke slid back into bed and pressed in against Anders. His right hand dug under the mage's neck, replacing the pillow; with his left hand he dangled the bacon in front of Anders's nose.

After a moment of waiting for Anders to wake, Hawke grew impatient. "Are you  _really_  still sleeping? It must be almost midmorning."

"Just pretending," Anders replied in a quiet voice. "I liked the feel of you burrowing your eyes into my flesh." With a light growl the mage chomped the offered bacon, ripping it from Hawke's hand. Still chewing, he turned onto his back to face Hawke. "Do I smell chocolate bread? Do you have an Orlesian cook?"

Hawke laughed. "Yes, and no. Bodahn went to the bakery earlier. The bakery has Orlesian bakers."

"Chocolate bread…." Anders stared at the ceiling, smiling. "I can't recall the last time I had it."

Hawke reached behind him and picked up one of the warmed pastries. The crust flaked onto Anders's chest, and Hawke licked the bits off obligingly.

Anders chuckled. "You  _must_  be hungry if you're threatening to eat  _me_."

Hawke grinned and offered the pastry to Anders, who promptly took a bite and took the treat in his own hand. Hawke continued kissing the man's torso, licking and nipping the few delicate scars that somehow remained despite years of self-given healing spells. It didn't take Hawke long to move lower, following the thin line of copper-blonde hair, leaving a trail of kisses along the way. Hawke's hands clamped onto Anders' flanks. His tongue teased at the soft tip of the man's cock, working in circles and flicking lightly until a happy twitch begged for more. Hawke obliged, taking Anders's full length into his mouth.

Anders sighed deeply. "Chocolate, bacon, and a blowjob. I had a dream about this, once. Of course, in the dream I was actually in the Golden City being fed bacon-wrapped chocolates by a dozen busty women… and several well-endowed men."

"Hush," Hawke whispered before returning to Anders's cock.

Anders gleefully ate his pastry, while Hawke ate him.

. . . . . .

_Two weeks later…_

"You… and  _Isabela_?" Hawke finally inquired about the juicy tidbit he had picked up while on the road home from Sundermount.

"What? Oh," Anders chuckled. "There is no  _me and Isabela_ , Conall. There was an evening a very, very long time ago. And it wasn't just spent with Isabela."

"Tell me about it," Hawke requested.

Anders turned, surprised. "Tell you about one experience I had fifteen years ago?"

Hawke shrugged. "Sure. Sounded like it was an amazing night. I'm surprised you didn't recognize Isabela immediately."

"It was a long time ago. I was young. And drunk. So, no, I don't remember that much of it."

Hawke settled his hands behind his head and grinned at Anders expectantly.

Anders growled. "Fine. I was sixteen. I had only been at the Circle for four years and I was…. Well, I was  _sixteen_. Karl and I weren't  _together_  so much as finding moments to be alone…. Anyway, I had gotten into an argument with one of my instructors and that night I just left. It was all too easy. Used bedsheets tied together as a rope." Anders grinned. "They never let me in the washroom again. Anyway, I was out. Ran east, hitched rides to get to Denerim. That city is expensive if you don't want to live in the Alienage, and I had nothing but the clothes I was wearing, my mother's pillow, and some books. I asked around, where a young man could find work, and I was told to go to a 'tavern' called The Pearl." He laughed. "Apparently the man thought I was good looking enough to, eh,  _work_  there."

"I'm guessing it wasn't a tavern."

"Brothels  _are_ taverns. Just… a different kind of tavern. The name certainly gives it away. 'The Pearl'. How obvious can they get?" He shook his head, and ignored Hawke's cocked eyebrow. "I was in luck by then. I had a few sovereigns to my name that I had…  _found…_  and bought myself dinner and wine. Eventually one of the girls figured out I was a mage. I nearly fainted, worrying that she would tell someone, but she didn't. I suppose she felt sorry for me, because in the end she had me in her bed for free. I remember her yelling at the madam to 'take it out of her earnings'. The rest is a bit of a blur, since she supplied a lot more wine. That's when Isabela came in. I remembered her by her bandana and her… well, her cleavage. She didn't have that… lip… thing… then. Later, there were more women, some men, and I entertained quite a few of them with, as Isabela divulged, 'electricity things'."

"The one that tickles?"

Anders laughed. "It does more than tickle for a woman. Some men like it, too. Brings most people to orgasm within moments."

"Where's the fun in that?" Hawke smirked.

"Oh, for women, it can be very useful. They can keep going, you know, after they orgasm. I'm eternally jealous."

"Your healing magic usually gets us going fairly quick for a second round."

"That is does."

"So, I'm guessing this night in heaven didn't end well?"

"Oh, the night ended. Took the Chantry a full two days to get wind of me."

"What did they do to you when you got back to the Circle?"

"Solitary confinement for a while, then some flogging, but that's about it. The Ferelden Circle was more lenient, particularly to young men that cry."

"Cry?"

"I'm a  _very_ good actor."

Hawke turned from Anders and gazed at the ceiling. "I think young Anders and young me would have got on just fine."

. . . . . .

 _Three days later_ …

Hawke awoke to the sensation of being pleasured orally. He shifted a bit in order to gaze down his body. Anders's hair was untied, tickling Hawke's torso as he bobbed up and down quickly. Hawke realized just how far along he was in his arousal.

"That explains the dream I was having," Hawke murmured. Now fully aware of the sensations Anders offered him, his fingers dug into the bedsheets, clenching into fists with anticipation. A finger slipped inside him, then, and Hawke grinned when he realized Anders had applied that scented oil he loved. Two fingers. Anders thrust his hand forward and back, alternating rhythmically with his mouth.

"Oh,  _fuck_ , Anders…," Hawke cried, ready to lose himself. But then Anders backed away, only leaving his fingers inside Hawke.

Hawke jerked up, his face riddled with question. His whine was involuntary. Anders grinned rather evilly. He removed his fingers and wasted no time in replacing them with his cock. It was a rare day indeed that Anders took control like this, and Hawke wondered if his manic episode the night before had anything to do with this play, now. He didn't press the issue.

As Anders thrust slowly into Hawke, he left the man's cock completely untouched. Unable to bear the torture, Hawke reached down to finish himself off.

Anders pried Hawke's hand off one finger at a time. He grabbed both of the man's wrists, brought them to his waist, and held them there.

"Why?" Hawke gasped, the desperation heavy in his voice.

"You've never tried it?"

"Tried what?"

"Not coming. Almost coming, but not. And then, later…," he thrust especially hard, "boom."

"Boom."

"Boom!" Anders grinned.

Hawke gritted his teeth, trying to obey, to control his body despite the pleasure he felt from Anders being inside him. "I hate you," he blurted.

"You won't, later."

"Right now…," Hawke breathed. "Right now, I… haaate… hate hate… hate you.  _Ugh_."

Anders slid out from him and pushed himself back. "On your stomach," he ordered.

Hawke could do little to protest, nor did he really want to. Flush against the bed, his erection pressed uncomfortably against the feather mattress. Anders entered Hawke quickly, and pressed his torso to the man's back, making sure Hawke couldn't move. As Anders thrust, Hawke's cock moved minimally between his body and the bed, adding only the slightest pleasure. Anders thrust slowly, drawing out every stroke to its fullest. His hands smoothed down Hawke's arms, ending with a grasp near the elbows, adding to Hawke's restraints.

Hands still on Hawke's arms, Anders pushed himself up and quickened his pace. Hawke's moans and cries increased in volume, sounding more desperate the longer Anders kept on. And kept on, he did. Anders had told Hawke about his 'condition', that of being a Grey Warden. Among all the horrible aspects, one good trait was an increase in base stamina. As such, Anders rarely tired from physical exertion. Spells were different, as mana, an element of the Fade, was wholly unrelated to a physical body's strength and endurance. Hawke knew in this position, only helpless because he let himself be so, he was in for a long run, as long as Anders could go, or as long as the oil supply and healing magic helped fend off chaffing.

Time didn't exist when Anders took it upon himself to fuck Hawke in this manner. The two of them became lost in each other, sometimes forging on through mealtimes or other such mundane occasions.

When Anders moved Hawke to his hands and knees, he knew release was near for the mage. Still, Hawke was not allowed to touch himself – Anders' playful rules. If Hawke orgasmed without the use of hands at all, which happened from time to time, he was rewarded with a dose of healing magic, and a second orgasm could be had, and it would be Hawke's choice as to how.

This time, Hawke wasn't finding release just from feeling Anders inside him, so the mage reached around and grasped Hawke's cock. Anders' thrusts were wild now, frantic in his desire to come. His free hand clenched and dug into Hawke's backside while his other formed a circle for Hawke to thrust into. Mere moments later, Anders cried out in release, and his hand pulled tightly at Hawke's cock, urging him to finish.

Hawke was a loud man. His barrel chest did nothing to mute his voice, particularly when ecstasy overwhelmed him and he held no control over his body's actions. As Hawke came, he felt his soul explode, and Anders was certain the rest of the household could hear him.

Anders collapsed against Hawke's back and held his position, still inside of the man, until the both of them fell to the side with simultaneous grunts. They lay a panting, sweaty mess for an unmeasurable amount of time. Anders' arms were weak, but he reached forward to grasp Hawke's hand.

"Still hate me?" Anders managed to ask.

Hawke chuckled before answering. "Boom."

. . . . . .

_One month later…_

Hawke thought a moment. "Thomas?"

"No."

"Gideon."

Anders chuckled. "No."

"Erick."

"Nope."

"Leopold."

Anders shook his head.

"Rembrandt?"

The mage's brow furrowed. "Now you're just making names up."

"I am not."

Anders sighed and went back to mending his robe.

"At least give me a letter," Hawke begged. "Just the first letter. Or even the  _last_  letter. I'm not a walking baby name book."

"I didn't  _ask_  you to guess," Anders reminded him.

"I don't…." Hawke scratched his neck. "I don't understand why…  _how_  you still don't trust me enough to know your real name."

"What does it even matter?"

"It matters because your given name was a part of you, your history. I'm not even asking your family name…. And it matters because I will carry this curiosity to my grave."

"If I told you my name was Marvin would you call out, 'Ohhh,  _Maaarvin!'_  whilst I fuck you blind? Introduce me as such to your friends?"

"Of course not. To me you'll always be Anders; the name suits you." Hawke raised a brow. "Is your name… Marvin?"

Anders groaned and his shoulders sunk. " _No_ , Conall. No."

"Are you really so paranoid that one day a templar or blood mage or demon will read my mind and learn your true name from me? I'm not that weak."

"Even the strongest men—"

"Yes, yes, as you've said. But the Fereldan Circle knows where your phylactery is. They know your name.  _They_ know your name, and I don't." Hawke closed in on Anders, pressing his lower body against the back of the chair he sat in. He cupped Anders' shoulders with his palms. "It's just an excuse, isn't it? The name means nothing, I'll wager. It's the memory."

"Please, stop," Anders cried, his body suddenly tense.

Conall backed away, and then walked around to face the mage. "I'm sorry," he said as he wrapped a hand around Anders's neck. "I didn't… I didn't think it would still hurt, after all these years."

"Of course it hurts. Imagine if Bethany had been dragged away as a child. Your mother would have cried out her name again and again and again and then the very sound of it made Bethany's soul crumble every time someone called to her. None of you would have ever wanted to hear that name again for fear of breaking down in tears in the middle of the market. Or maybe in another world your parents would have despised Bethany for being born a mage. Sent her away, spitting upon her very memory, never speaking of her again."

"Is that what happened to you, any of that? I thought you thought fondly of your mother."

"My mother… yes. She was so kind…. Gentle."

"Reminds me of someone," Hawke interjected, smirking playfully. "But not your father?"

"My father was strict, but never harsh. Not until I was seven and accidentally set the barn on fire…. My mother convinced him successfully for five years to keep my abilities a secret. He couldn't stand the sight of me when I started to practice lighting the hearth or freezing puddles. He even smacked me a few times. So, yes, I don't like the memory of him screaming my name at me whenever he caught me casting spells, of my mother crying to me…."

Hawke sat in the chair opposite Anders and eyed him a moment. "Then why 'Anders'? Why not 'Robert'? Something wholly unrelated to your home?"

"I didn't choose Anders. Not at first. The others at the Circle began to call me that when they found out where I was from. There weren't many others from the Anderfels. Anyway, instead of running from it, I owned it. The Anderfels have nothing to do with my parents other than where they were born. It is a blighted land of fire and dust and I never care to return. It's just a name, now. Just random letters strung together to make two sounds. Anders." The mage sighed. "It's even more fitting now, after joining with Justice. I'll never be the boy from the Anderfels again. I'm not even the same man I was five years ago."

"I like the man you are now."

"A homicidal psychopath?" Anders shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder about you, Conall."

Hawke stood, walked to Anders, and took the man's face between his hands. "You wonder how I can love a kind and caring man who loathes oppression and wrong-doing?" Hawke shook his head. "How horrible you truly are, Marvin."

Anders couldn't help but laugh and crack a smile, though he had started to cry just before, remembering the girl he killed, seeing her terrified face. Hawke pressed the mage's head to his torso and let his tunic dry his tears.

. . . . . .

_One week later…_

Anders traced nonsensical patterns with a finger into Hawke's chest hair, sometimes following the wave of tattooed flames. "I don't know how you can't find women attractive."

"I think some women are very attractive. They just don't usually have a penis."

The mage laughed. "No, not usually. I've met a few that did, though. Interesting situation. Sometimes they are more woman, sometimes more man. Best of both worlds in my mind, though." Anders circled one of Hawke's nipples, and watched it perk. "Women can use strap-on penises, though."

"So I've heard."

"And that still wouldn't do it for you? If a beautiful woman wore a cock just for you?"

Hawke shrugged. "What can I say? I've always preferred men. With a real, feeling penis."

"Never even  _tried it_  with a woman?"

"Hmph. Once. Though, that was more out of desperation than desire. I had just come to Kirkwall. She was a fellow smuggler. A rogue, too. Taught me all sorts of tricks, improved my lockpicking. She desired me, and eventually let me know it. Was aggressive about it, too. By then I hadn't had sex in over a year, so…. Well, all I'll say is that at the time she wore her hair very short and she let me take her from behind."

"No sexy male smugglers willing to bed you?"

"Oh, plenty of sexy male smugglers. None of them attracted to men, though."

"Their loss."

"Ha," Hawke mock-laughed.

"And what about these last three years?" Anders rolled his shoulder while looking away. "Before we got together. Was there anyone?"

"Was there anyone for you?" Hawke asked, equally curious.

Anders squinted at Hawke. "I asked you first. But, my answer is short, so… yes. One woman, at the Rose, twice a year. I heal the workers of their various diseases, and so I build up credit. I wouldn't want to pay for sex, not now. I just didn't want to… I didn't want a relationship with anyone else. Brothels make that easy. And Polli is a nice, tiny elf who likes mages. She's also a crack wit, so I know if the templars ever asked if her she knew me, she'd convince them she didn't."

"You are… cleansed of disease yourself, right?"

"No, I'm riddled with cooties."

"Anders."

"Yes, Conall, I'm clean. Aside from the whole darkspawn taint thing, which thankfully isn't transferrable. Now, your turn."

Hawke sat up on the bed and looked away. He fiddled with his braid, deciding spontaneously to redo it. He was fidgety, and Anders noticed.

"Here, let me," the mage offered, soon combing his fingers through Hawke's long black hair. "I'm not going to like the answer, am I?"

"Oh, I don't know. I suppose that depends."

"On what?"

"On how much you love me and how redeemable my past actions are."

"If you tell me you fucked a templar, so help me…."

"No! Maker, no, Anders. But I…," he sighed. "I wanted you. You know that. And he… he knew that, too. He noticed. He didn't want me… not like that. He said he desired my body, but he and I were not…  _are_  not friends. Not really. Though, I think, lately, he seems to be calming down, not loathing me as much."

"You fucked a man who hated you?"

"He fucked me first," Hawke blurted, tense with defense, but quickly relaxed at Anders's touch. "The first time… it was in the Deep Roads."

"So Isabela wasn't lying after all…."

"What!?"

"Isabela told me about you and Fenris. It's hard to miss his glow, I admit, and she's a curious, stealthy woman. She watched you two."

"She did not."

"She did."

"So, you knew. You knew about me and Fenris."

"Of course I knew. I think everyone knew, eventually."

"So why parade around it? You should have just asked me flat out."

Anders bent forward and whispered into Hawke's ear, "I like making you squirm." He laughed. "It's not an easy feat."

"So I guess… you're alright with this. With my past."

"I've fucked men far less attractive and far more ornery than Fenris. I'm just surprised he wanted to breathe the same air as you."

"Well, it wasn't exactly a loving affair."

"Is it true he plays rough?"

"'Play' is the wrong term. He's rough, and serious about it." Hawke paused a moment, recalling Fenris' words. "And he always made sure I thought of you, not him. He used my desire for you in that way. He retained a distance between me and him."

"I should send him some flowers in thanks. Maybe a cake." Anders finished the braid and tied it with a leather thong.

"You're an odd, odd man," Hawke noted.

Anders wrapped his arms around his man's shoulders. "You love me and you know it."

Hawke smiled, and grasped Anders' forearms. "Every crazy bit."


	8. Family

**_My body's weak_ **   
**_Feel my heart giving up on me_ **   
**_I'm worried it might just be_ **   
**_Something my soul needs_ **   
**_You, lying next to me_ **   
  
**_But I still worry more about you_ **

_“Flesh and Bone” – Keaton Henson_

 

His fingertips were pruned. His toes, numbed. The water in the porcelain tub had been left to turn ice cold. It was Hawke’s own fault, not closing the window. The winter chill had stolen what little comfort the boiled water had offered in the first place. On any normal day Hawke would have stood from the tub, walked the five paces to the large kettle that would have been heating more water if so desired, and refilled as necessary.

Today he simply sat there, staring at the far brim, watching the glint of indirect light shift as time passed. The soaps and washcloths lay untouched. His hair was still in a braid, mussed as it was, sticky with blood and Maker knew what else.

Hawke never gave a second thought to what grime he had resigned himself to sitting in. Though much of the dust and gore that flew about during any battle was caught by his armor, some ultimately accumulated on exposed skin, and what did had half-washed off into the bathwater. Much of the dirt had since settled at the base, a stark contrast to the white ceramic.

He didn’t notice the hand on his shoulder until a second tugged at the leather thong holding in his braid. Hawke knew who it was behind him without turning. The soft scent of flowers gave Anders away. Hawke remained where he was, letting Anders do as he will.

Only when his lover began to wash Hawke did he realize the bathwater was warm again. The chill in the air had disappeared. The grime had been cleaned out of the tub. Hawke ran through the explanations for the sudden change in ambience, wondering with equal weight if Anders knew some tidying spells, or if he had simply cleaned around Hawke’s body, draining the tub and refilling it, all while Hawke sat catatonic.

Hawke stared at his palms. Big. Wrinkly. Cursed. One of them was grasped by a gentler hand, and stiff bristles cleaned hidden filth from underneath fingernails. The cleaned hand was placed on the brim of the tub, fingers curved to grasp with the forearm bracing. The other hand and arm followed.

Something urged him forward and, gripping the edge, Hawke shifted to the middle of the tub. Warm water trickled down his back. The cloth slopped and dragged slow and firm across his skin. Hawke closed his eyes. Water kissed the rest of his upper body, even tickling his ears. Soap was lathered into his loose hair. The scent of some sort of nut mixed with flowers made Hawke smile.

The serenity of being bathed was ended when more than a trickle was poured over his head. The rush brought him out of his stupor, and Hawke finally turned to gaze at his lover behind him. Anders was naked, wielding an empty bucket, and offering Hawke a tender smile. Hawke returned the emotion as best he could.

Anders set the bucket aside and slinked into the water behind Hawke. The mage pressed his back to the tub wall and urged Hawke to lie against his chest. Hawke’s long black hair had begun to curl. Anders combed the locks with his fingers, shifting them to the side. With one hand, arm braced on the brim, Anders held onto Hawke’s bicep. Anders’s other hand lay flat against Hawke’s chest, cradling the man; Hawke reached up to secure the embrace. Anders closed his eyes, breathing in and exhaling slow and deep.

When Hawke began to cry, Anders retained his claim on the man’s body, gripping the arm and the chest muscle harder. When Hawke tensed, he clenched onto Anders. When he turned his head, his tears dampened Anders’s skin. When Hawke cried out for his murdered mother, Anders felt every shudder.

The mage’s heart shattered with the breaking of Hawke’s.


	9. This Crazy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took forever. Serves me right for writing several stories at once while finishing a PhD. 
> 
> I'm also sorry I resorted to using in-game quotes again. I rarely do this but... I gave in, and it worked.
> 
> Also, if something is inherently wrong about Anders's or BPD representation here, PLEASE tell me (I can be contacted in private on tumblr at scriptrixdraconum.tumblr.com).

**_If you must leave, leave as though fire burns under your feet._**  
**_If you must work, work to leave some part of you on this earth._**  
**_If you must fight, fight with yourself and your thoughts in the night._**  
**_If you must die, sweetheart, die knowing your life was my life's best part._**

_“You” – Keaton Henson_

 

Hawke stepped up to his estate’s front door and a curious pile by the entrance caught his attention. He looked again, and realized the pile was made up of a couple dozen mice and young rats, all dead but uneaten. Some were old, and beginning to rot. Hawke had only been away from home for two weeks, and was worried what he might find inside his home.

Silence was the first thing Hawke found. A pile of letters was the second. He wondered why Ser Rumples was not rushing to the door to greet him, and trotted up the stairs to check the master bedroom where the mabari liked to sleep. Sure enough, Ser Rumples was there, on the bed exactly where he wasn’t supposed to be. Not there was Anders, which worried Hawke. The dog perked up a little too late for the guardian he was supposed to be and leapt from the bed to greet his master.

“Where’s Anders?” Hawke asked his hound, who barked loudly and then ran out the bedroom door. Hawke was led to his mother’s room, which had been left untouched since her death. Or so Hawke thought.

The door was unlocked. Behind, Hawke found Anders, frantically running about the room, half-naked. Sweat glistened on his upper body, and the mage’s face and neck were flushed dark pink. He failed to notice Hawke and the mabari standing in the doorway. Hawke watched as Anders darted from one pile of objects to another, finally standing still when he found the piece of wood he needed and began to nail it to an unfinished construction of other pieces of scrap wood. Hawke watched the mage for a while, not wanting to bother him when he was in the zone. He knew it would be futile to try to stop Anders when he got like this. If it wasn’t his manifesto he was obsessing over, it was something else, and today that something else was carpentry.

Hawke finally left Anders to his project. He slipped into his bath to wash the grime of travel from his body. As he soaked, he heard a curious sound. He turned to look towards the hallway, watching through the open door. He made to turn back around when movement caught his eye. He waited to see it again and, finally, a flash of white crossed the doorway again.

A cat.

Hawke held his breath for a moment, but then turned away from the doorway and exhaled, slowly. His forehead found a home against an open palm, and he groaned.

“That explains the mice,” he mumbled.

Hawke jumped when something poked his elbow from outside the tub. He turned to find a silver tabby with tiny folded ears, sitting on its haunches and staring up at Hawke with big, dark eyes.

* * *

“ _You’re looking at a ghost, a ghost! We’re everyone in this town, all over all over all over forever. A god is speaking for them now!”_

Hawke massaged the wounded flesh of his bicep from behind the closed door of his mother’s bedroom where Anders decided to hole himself up over the last month. Something in Anders’s mind had changed. Hawke saw the mage through many bouts of depression and hyperactivity, but more and more in the recent days, Anders slipped into fits of confused, tangential rage. The seething anger was always borne out of concern for fellow mages or hatred and fear of templars.

“ _All of them with their eyes, selling baubles under their watchful suns. She keeps them away from there, from the dark place but for how long she can never know. It’s over! It’s over!”_

Hawke knew better than to try to calm Anders during an episode, but when the mage began to tear down the cat palace he had constructed with his own two hands and set the scrap wood on fire in the middle of the bedroom, Hawke had to intervene. He failed, and was hit by a fireball for his efforts.

“ _We can’t go there anymore for them not for them not for us not for him but we tried, we tried and we saved so many so many but not enough it’s never enough it won’t ever be enough!”_

The fire had singed the rug, but died down before it did any more damage. Hawke had left the room before he angered the mage further.

“ _They found them they can find you they will always find you and all of them even in here they will find you and take you away you need to go! Go! Go!”_

The rogue sank to the floor, his back sliding against the wall along the way. Hawke rested his elbows on his knees and waited for Anders to stop screaming.

* * *

The cats were gone. The silver tabby with folded ears, whom Hawke came to call Muffins for no particular reason, was severely missed. Not by Ser Rumples, so much, but by Hawke, immensely so. The cat became a quick friend after its persistent shadowing of the man. Anders himself had befriended all of the household cats in the last month – all 27 of them. They were free to leave the estate as they pleased, using the tunnel between Hightown and Darktown as their private mouse course.

Anders shut the way in. He didn't go to Darktown anymore. He didn't go anywhere, anymore. Isabela stopped by, on occasion, to check up on Anders and take him out on the town, something that relieved Hawke, who worried every time he had to go away for business matters. One day, the two ventured out while Hawke was home, and were gone for a considerable length of time.

“We took a long, long walk, and then went to the chantry,” Isabela explained, and left it at that. Hawke didn't prod further. He knew that, unlike himself, Anders still believed in the Maker.

That night, while Hawke cradled a placid Anders, he asked about the cats.

“It was not safe for them, anymore,” answered Anders.

In the morning, Anders was gone.

* * *

Standing before an emptied bookshelf, Anders shrugged on a new robe, and a new feathered mantle. Instead of the pleasant green fabric, the robe was now mainly black, as were the feathers around his shoulders.

Hawke watched him from the shadows, not yet wanting to give away his presence. The curious change of outfit concerned him, and he wanted to wait as long as possible before confronting the man who had left their bed in the middle of the night.

As Anders tugged on his boots, Hawke realized he recognized three rather large black feathers that stood out from the other, smaller ones. They had found them in the hunting grounds outside of Chateau Haine. Magical feathers, Anders had called them.

Hawke thought Anders looked like a starling.

“I know you're there, Conall,” Anders spoke, loudly and without looking.

Hawke stepped out of the shadows. “So I am.” He walked up to Anders and ran a hand through the feathery mass on Anders's back. “New outfit?”

Anders said nothing.

“I missed you this morning,” Hawke continued.

Anders didn't respond.

Hawke, growing tense, rubbed his left brow. “Anders....”

“You should go,” the mage rumbled, quiet but firm.

Hawke took a step back from Anders, retreating a hand that was in the process of reaching out to grasp a shoulder. “Wh—Anders, is everything alright?”

Anders hesitated only a moment before replying, “Everything will be fine. Please, go. It will be alright.”

“What will—? Anders—“

The mage turned abruptly and pressed his lips to his lover. The kiss was desperate, hard and hungry, and ended far too quickly.

“I love you,” Anders breathed, pressing his nose flat against Hawke's and cradling Hawke's face between his palms. “Thank you, for...,” He subtly shook his head. “I know I'm not... haven't been easy to love, easy to be with. You stood by me when I gave you every reason to turn away. Whatever happens... we had this. They can never take away _this_. You mean the world to me... but I need to do this alone.” Anders backed away, dropping his hands from Hawke's face.

“I'm sorry,” he continued, looking away. The mage squeezed shut his eyes. “Please... do me this kindness.”

“ _Kind_ ness?” Hawke repeated. “You're asking me to leave... leave _you_? Leave this? And then call it kindness? Anders, tell me what is going on.”

“If you leave, now, none of this will come down on you. I swear it.”

“None of _what_ , Anders!?”

The mage remained quiet.

Hawke felt his face flush hot. Anger and fear were raging within him, and there was nothing he could do. In a broken voice, Hawke gave one more feeble attempt. “Anders, please.... Don't do this.”

Barely more than a whisper, Anders replied, “I told you I would break your heart, just know it breaks mine to do it.”

* * *

The last place Hawke wanted to be was home. Aside from the servants and his old dog, the place would have been empty.

Empty....

Instead, Hawke meandered toward the chantry. It wasn't prayer or Andraste or even the Maker that he sought – Hawke knew he could find Sebastian, reaffirmed as a brother, in that palace of a building somewhere. The prince recited chants now and then, Hawke knew, and despite having no real use for the religious words, still enjoyed seeing and hearing his old friend enjoy his work so thoroughly. Perhaps it had something to do with the man's thick, pleasant, northerner accent.

Upon seeing Hawke's distraught face, tears accenting the stylized tattoo flames, Sebastian offered Hawke his arms in a brotherly embrace. They sat in silence for a while, simply staring up at the gargantuan statue of Andraste. Eventually, Hawke began to speak, telling Sebastian intimate details about Anders and what had just transpired. Sebastian listened to all his friend had to say; Hawke did not want advice nor did Sebastian give it. When Hawke related Anders's ultimate mindset, his unease and how he pushed everyone, including their cats, away, Sebastian did not seem surprised.

“I can't begin to understand the intricacies of Anders's mind,” Sebastian began, “and perhaps no one ever could – not even you. But what I have noticed is that he can, at least at times, be selfish. I suppose given the right circumstances, everyone can be selfish....” Sebastian swept a hand over his auburn locks and sighed. “But, from what you told me, it does sound like he is about to do something dangerous, or something even you wouldn't approve of.”

“Thanks?” Hawke remarked, smirking through his anguish.

Sebastian returned Hawke's expression with like emotion. “I have no advice for you, unfortunately. I'd say 'watch him', but that would just upset him. Unfortunately, the best thing to do seems to be to give him the space that he needs. Very likely, what he means to do will somehow involve the mages still in the Gallows, and... well, there are plenty of guards there. Let them do their jobs.”

Hawke slowly shook his head. “He's not going to stop until he's dead.”

Sebastian had nothing to say to that.

* * *

Though still reluctant, Hawke forced himself to return to his estate once night fell.

Ser Rumples cowered with Sandal while Hawke tore his bedroom apart, ripping and crushing and throwing in between bouts of obscenities and tears. 


End file.
